


Remarkable

by blitzturtles



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, chubby character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 08:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19390036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blitzturtles/pseuds/blitzturtles
Summary: They’re in bed at Crowley’s insistence. Supposedly it’s more comfortable. Aziraphale doesn’t know that he agrees, but he has a habit of appeasing Crowley to the point of excess.





	Remarkable

They’re in bed at Crowley’s insistence. Supposedly it’s more comfortable. Aziraphale doesn’t know that he agrees, but he has a habit of appeasing Crowley to the point of excess.

Aziraphale’s back is against the headboard with a small mountain of pillows behind him to keep him comfortable, which is good because Crowley has decided to take up the space between his legs, and that means moving won’t happen anytime soon.

The demon is rolled over onto his belly with his head rested on his crossed arms, which are, in turn, rested on Aziraphale’s stomach. His eyes are closed, but Aziraphale knows he isn’t asleep. Part of him wants to know what is going on in that head of Crowley’s. The other part of him is merely happy to see Crowley so relaxed. With that thought in mind, Aziraphale turns his attention back to his book. 

“Out loud, angel,” Crowley says in what could be easily mistaken as a demand, but Aziraphale knows better. Besides, he’s happy to oblige.

Nearly thirty minutes go by without a single interruption. Aziraphale is so deep into his reading that he almost misses the soft whisper. “I’m sorry, dear boy, you’ll have to repeat that,” he keeps his thumb in the book but lets it collapse together. His other hand brushes over Crowley’s hair affectionately. He goes still rather abruptly when Crowley’s eyes flicker upward. The admiration there surprises him more than he would like to admit.

“I said,” and Crowley has to pause to gather himself before he continues, “That you’re remarkable.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes. It isn’t that Crowley never pays him any compliments, but it’s that he says them with such passion every time that he does that it tends to rob the angel of any air that may have been in his lungs.

Crowley pets his hand over Aziraphale’s stomach, and _that_ makes the angel squirm a bit.

“Something the matter?” Crowley asks with a hint of a frown.

“No- well, I just-” Aziraphale snaps his teeth together to quiet himself. 

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley says in that long, drawn out way that always makes Aziraphale feel like an entire planet has collided with the exact center of his chest. It’s not hard to imagine how Crowley would be able to talk the most innocent into robbing a child of their candy.

“This body-”

“Is remarkable,” Crowley says easily. Like it’s obvious. To him, it seems to be.

“Is soft,” Aziraphale argues without any energy behind it. He knows when he’s lost an argument, and that includes the ones that haven’t been had.

Crowley cocks his head slightly, “One doesn’t exclude the other.”

Aziraphale hums his response. He could try resuming where he left off. Perhaps distract Crowley before he gets invested in proving Aziraphale wrong.

“Honestly, angel,” Crowley says before Aziraphale can sort out where he left off. “I _like_ this body of your’s. Quite a bit.” 

“You’ve grown used to it.” Aziraphale doesn’t quite mean to stick his foot down far enough to choke on it, but the fire that flashes in Crowley’s eyes is a good indicator that he may have misspoken. He doesn’t have more than a moment to process Crowley moving, grabbing at his wrists and pinning them over his head in an instant. The book goes tumbling to the floor, and Aziraphale takes a moment to mourn the likely bent pages. They can always be miracled to the proper state later, but he’ll _know_.

Crowley looks too much like an animal ready to strike. His body is tense, and his eyes are still alight. Both disappear in favor of a lazy, half-smirk that Aziraphale almost dreads more. “You’re wrong,” he says, firmly. He leans in to steal a kiss, only continuing once they’ve broken apart, “And I’ll prove it to you.”


End file.
